Everyone wears a mask, controls a woman and 049

 I asked most of the prisoners that had gotten out to hold off our jailors. But they are weak, and I fear we do not have long. You must act, and quickly my love.” The voice changed, dropping into its more natural baritone. “You, outside. Come in now.”

The doctor stared, transfixed and horrified at his journal. He did not see the nervous woman enter the room, gingerly, so as not to touch the corrosive ooze still devouring the wall. Her nose was running - it always ran when her heart was racing. She stood timidly, her eyes jumping back and forth between the degenerating pile of her cellmate and the beautiful mask that knew how to save her. “Lie down, there, on the bed. Close your eyes and breathe. The doctor here, he will fix everything that’s wrong with you.” The woman complied. The pleading falsetto returned. “She is ready, my love. Look closely at her if you need to, she is sick! Sick!”

If he heard, he gave no response. His racing hand turned the page, watchful eyes scouring the text. It had been ages since he’d had reason to refer this far back through his notes. There were detailed sketches and diagrams of the very flask he’d just retrieved. This did nothing to quell the bile rising in his gorge; he couldn’t read a word of the henscratch on the page! It was his script no doubt, but he couldn’t make any of it out. Pages turned frantically until he found a part he could read.

Gunfire, faint and muffled, retorted in short vollies. “Quickly now! You know everything you need, doctor! This woman is deathly ill! Tend to her!” The voice bubbled slightly; the delicate throat was beginning to go, there wasn’t much time left. Desperation poured from its mouth, as thick as its corrosive fluid.

Exhaustive details of pathology, symptoms, he’d turned these over ceaselessly in his mind for as long as he could remember. Focusing again on the words, he scanned them for nearly a minute further before snapping the journal shut in frustration. Damn. Notes on his procedure, nothing that needed refreshing. A long moment passed and the journal fell once again from his fingers into his bag. Ultimately, it doesn’t matter; his work does not wait. The gunfire retorted again, a bit closer this time. He steadied his breathing and cast his gaze over the woman lying, sick and trembling on his bed. He would need to work quickly to save her and avoid interruption.